The Day She Left
by Top Hats and Other Items
Summary: "For the first time in his life, he could not think. He did not want to think..."
1. Chapter 1: The Gentleman

Hey all. Here's my first fanfic, so please, be kind, or if not, be constructive :D This particular story is a songfic, the song being _Every Time We Say Goodbye._ This version was sung by Natalie Cole, and originally made by Cole Porter.

Disclaimers: I obviously do not own Professor Layton. If I did, I would be wearing a silk top hat, learning how to fence, and going on adventures with Luke, Professor, Flora, Emmy... yup, I love my virtual life.

I also don't own the song. If I did, I wouldn't be so tone-deaf.

PS: If you haven't noticed already, there's going to be quite a bit of **_SPOILERS_**, I think, for **_THE UNWOUND FUTURE_**. So unless you don't care, or you're just looking for a story to read around the campfire...

**_DON'T READ THIS YET._**

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><p><em>"I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge.<em>

_Myth more potent than history._

_Dreams are more powerful than facts._

_Hope always triumphs over experience._

_Laughter is the cure for grief._

_Love is stronger than death._

_~Robert Fulghum_

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><p>The Gentleman<p>

_Hershel sat down on his bed, not bothering to put his coat or hat on the rack when he came in. He held his face in his hands. For the first time in his life, he could not think. He did not want to think. To think would make him remember. To remember would bring back memories. Painful memories. These memories would make him regret. Regret that he didn't listen to himself. Regret that he couldn't run fast enough. Regret that he couldn't stop her from going to work today. Regret that he couldn't save her. All kinds of regrets, each one bringing the pain of a sharp knife, its cuts still fresh and bleeding. _

_Out of all of the sorrows that he carried in his heart, there was one that would haunt him for the rest of his life._

_He didn't tell her how much he loved her before she left. _

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><p>Every time we say goodbye...<p>

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><p><em>He can only sit down on the bed and feel the empty spot where his heart used to be. 'How ironic, Hershel remarked, that the happiest hour that I've had on earth would become the most painful day I'll ever have in my life.' When the clock struck noon, he was given a gift by his beloved, a simple brown top hat with a red band. That was the most joyful moment of his life. <em>

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><p>... I die a little.<p>

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><p><em>"Very dashing, Hershel," she had said to him, smiling happily as she placed the hat on his brow. "The picture of a true gentleman," she said proudly. "Oh, don't take it off!" she said, gently chiding him as he tried to remove it; it was slipping from his head. "<em>_It suits you, it really does! So, no taking it off.__" Then, after remembering that she had a meeting with her colleagues in thirty minutes, apologized to him by giving him a kiss, no more than a peck on the cheek, really, and promising a to be home early for dinner. With that, she set off for work and left him with a smile that slowly stretched from ear to ear._

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><p>Every time we say goodbye, I wonder why a little.<p>

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><p><em>Dread coursed through him when he heard the explosion. <em>

_'She isn't there,' he thought immediately. 'She's fine Hershel. Nothing to be worried about; she's nowhere near there, she's fine'—_

_—'No she's not,' said a small, persistent voice in the back of his mind. 'She's not "fine," Hershel, don't act like a fool. After all, you know where the laboratory is...' the voice drawled on, sending a chill down his spine. _

_'...You know where the explosion is... and you know where she is ... so it's safe to assume that she's'— "No..." he said out loud."She's not... she isn't..." He could not finish the sentence; his voice broke. He took a deep breath. "...she's fine. Besides, I'm going to give her this." He pulled out of his pocket a small, velvet box. "...and give her the biggest lecture she ever had in her life!" He tried to laugh, but came out a nervous chuckle._

_His neck prickled with unease as he went to the university. His heart plummeted to his stomach when he heard the students talking about it in class. "...It was in the laboratory, wasn't it?" said one of them. He froze, dropping the piece of chalk he was holding._

_No... it can't be... _

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><p>Why the Gods above me, who must be in the know.<p>

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><p><em>"...Yeah," the other one replied, "it was pretty big, I hear. Nearly the entire place was trashed and set fire to the buildings nearby." <em>

_His mind was roaring at him. Telling him to get out of there, to save her, to make sure she's alright— "...Yeah," said another, laughing solemnly. "I heard it's still smoking over there..."_

—_But he couldn't move. For the life of him, he __could not move._

_"...and you know what they say," the same student continued. "Where there's smoke, there's fire."_

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><p>Think so little of me...<p>

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><p><em>He remembered running. Running faster than he ever had in his life. His heart was hammering so hard and so painfully in his chest that it felt like it was about to burst. His legs slowly turning to lead, his arms about to fall off as he used one hand to manoeuvre screaming people out of the way and the other to hold on to his hat. <em>

_His beloved top hat. The gift she gave him mere hours ago._

_No..._

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><p>...They allow you to go.<p>

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><p><em>He stopped running when his legs could no longer support him, and even then he walked. Walked as fast as he could to her. The only one he had ever loved.<em>

_No...!_

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><p>When you're near, there's such an air of spring about it.<p>

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><p><em>His legs burned with sheer agony, but he kept walking as his mind searched for possibilities. Countless, numerous, possibilities that grew more and more desperate with each thought to convince himself that she was still alive. After all, he was a puzzle master, wasn't he? Yes, he was a puzzle master, taught by the best of the best, Andrew Schrader! "Every puzzle has an answer..." wasn't that what he always said? So, if he thought hard enough, he would get the answer, and she would live...<em>

_Right...?_

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><p>I can hear a lark somewhere, begin to sing about it.<p>

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><p><em>'...Hershel...' the little voice said. Hershel grimaced, and braced himself for the scathing remark he knew was coming. <em>

_'...You know that this is hopeless, right...?' The voice grew softer as it spoke, and Hershel blinked in surprise. It was strange, but did the voice sound... sad?_

_'...Hershel, she... she may already be... gone...'_

_It was almost as if... as if it was... __sorry__ for him...?_

_No!_

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><p>There's no love song finer...<p>

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><p><em>He saw the smoke and stopped dead in his tracks. He saw the black smoke that slowly rose to the heavens, destroying its purity. It told the tale of fire that stole the lives of ten people and changed the future of countless more. He wouldn't know it until ten years later, but that explosion destroyed the future of one boy. That one boy, who had lost everything to the inferno, will one day plot to destroy the monster that did this. <em>

_This was the same boy whom he saw running towards the fire that took his parents._

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><p>But how strange the change...<p>

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><p><em>He grabbed the small child without thinking. He had never felt so numb. He could feel the blood drain out his face as he saw the swirling smoke that touched the sky and put those who breathe it drift off into eternal sleep. His jaw clenched when he came near enough to see the ever growing blaze that devours all who dare touch it, scorching those foolish enough to come near it with the heat of its flames. It was only by chance that he managed to snap out of it and grab the boy before he was out of reach. <em>

_'...Wha...' he thought blankly, as a feeling of hopelessness started to fill him. He knew without a doubt that nearly no one in the buildings near the laboratory survived the explosion. 'What in the world is a child doing here...? Doesn't he know what happened...? Doesn't he know it's dangerous...?'_

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><p>...From major to minor...<p>

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><p><em>"Let me go!" the little one screamed, punching, kicking, shoving Hershel as hard as he could. "Let me go! They're still in there! I have to get them! I have to save them!"<em>

_He vaguely remembered grabbing the boy by the shoulders and slapping him on the face. The boy looked at him in confusion, momentarily forgetting where he was."Don't you understand?" he said to the grieving child. "If you go in there, you'll die too!" The boy looked at him uncomprehendingly. Then, a look of horror crept onto his face as he realised he was alone in the world, and he howled..._

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><p>...Every time we say goodbye.<p>

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><p><em>At the back of his mind, a tiny, hopeful, part of Hershel still said that she'll be home for dinner at six, just a bit later than usual. She was always a bit later than usual. He would see her rush in the house, her hair a mess as her arms flail about, trying to hold onto books while catching flying pieces of paper. She would drop everything on the couch and apologize franticly to him, while he would only smile at her and tell her it's alright. Then, he would give her the scolding of her life, and after dinner, he would show her the ring and finally propose to her. She would squeal in delight, and tackle him to the ground, laughing, and say yes, over and over again...<em>

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><p>When you're near, there's such an air of spring about it...<p>

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><p><em>...The sound of sirens brought him back to reality. The boy no longer fought to get away from him. Instead, he had grabbed hold of his jacket, and sobbed. "No! " The boy cried as he wept, knowing the truth but not accepting it."It can't be! Please, no! No, no, no!" he wailed, "Please, don't go! Come back! Come back! Please!" Hershel wrapped his arms around the boy as he fell on his knees, crying on his jacket, begging for his parents to come back to him. <em>

_Then it hit him. It finally hit him, what his mind had been telling him and what his heart refused to accept. It hit him faster than a bolt of lightning and with the force of a sledgehammer. His hands were shaking with the sudden clarity that showed him the truth, the awful truth. He knew he would only be deluding himself otherwise; he had known this ever since he heard the explosion..._

_That no matter what he did, she was never coming back._

_NO!_

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><p>I can hear a lark somewhere, begin to sing about it.<p>

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><p><em>That afternoon underneath the dull grey sky passed in a blur. He vaguely remembers handing over the grieving boy to an inspector, and heading back to the university. He recalls talking to his mentor and driving back home. He opens the door, fumbling with the keys and just remembering to close the door behind him. He drops his trunk near the couch, looks up to see the old grandfather clock on the wall. It was 6:00. Suddenly, he remembered that she should be home by now. <em>

_"She's late again..." Hershel said softly and smiled, shaking his head. He put his trunk on the floor in the living room near the couch, and waited for her come running in the house in a panic, her arms fumbling with her books and trying to blow the hair out of her face. His smile faded. A sense of loneliness and great sorrow threatened to overwhelm him as he remembered. He pushed the feeling away, gritting his teeth as tears began to form, but he refused to let them fall. "It isn't proper," he said quietly."A true gentleman would keep his composure at all times."_

_He nearly laughed at himself—at the moment, he didn't even care._

_So, he gave himself something to do, a puzzle, to prevent himself from thinking of her, and made his way upstairs. _

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><p>There's no love song finer...<p>

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><p><em>He held on the doorknob of the room. He couldn't seem to open the door and go in, fearing that something inside would remind him on how pathetic, how dense, he is for not making sure she was okay. How pitiful, how foolish of him, to have ever hoped that she would come back. "Come on, Hershel," he sighed, exasperated." It's only a room. " He turned the doorknob and opened the door. He staggered back in shock. <em>

_He was wrong. _

_He was wrong about everything today._

_'This used to her room too,' he thought, berating himself for being so stupid, so forgetful. Another thing to haunt him in the weeks to come. _

_Her sweet, agonizing scent, that of orange and a hint of vanilla, wafted its way towards Hershel. It made him remember all the little things about her; the way she would go on and on excitedly about the smallest things. The way she teased him relentlessly about his obsession with tea, all the while secretly drinking it in her cup. The way she would eat her food, just managing to gobble it up faster than a starving wolf. The way she would quietly make some witty remark about anything that would make him laugh. _

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><p>But how strange the change...<p>

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><p><em>Hershel sat down on his bed<em>_, not bothering to take his coat or his hat off._

_"Our bed," he corrected himself absently. Then, he remembered, and a sense of sadness and frustration engulfed him. Was it going to be this way forever...?_

_He held his face in his hands. For the first time in his life, he could not think. He did not want to think._

_To think would make him remember. To remember would bring back memories. Painful memories of the woman he loved. These memories would make him regret. Regret, regret, regret..._

_Then he remembered the way she smiled. The way she laughed, like the soft tinkling of bells, filling the air with joy. He remembered her sense of humour, the way she would try, and fail, to keep herself from laughing by rolling on the floor, clutching at her sides. The way she would look at him with such love and affection that it was all he could do not to melt on the spot. He remembered how they danced together in their room, his face flaming a bright shade of red when she fell on him. He remembered how beautifully she would play the flute, and how they would make duets together, the very air seeming to come alive and dance to their melody._

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><p>...From major to minor...<p>

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><p><em>Hershel removed his hat, and gazed at it. "So, no taking it off," she had declared to him, hours ago. Her last words to him. There was a nagging feeling at the back of his head; he had forgotten something again. He searched his muddled mind for clues, but found nothing. Sighing in exasperation, he stood up to look around the room. He spotted a picture sitting near the window. He walked over and picked it up. <em>

_It was an old picture of both of them together, his face an impossible shade of red while she was hugging him, laughing while her face was a mixture of surprise and embarrassment. They were both caught in the act of kissing by a friend of hers, he remembered, smiling ruefully as he shook his head. That was the first time we kissed and said those fateful words..._

_I love you._

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><p>Every time...<p>

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><p><em>The nagging feeling became stronger. He put the picture down and gazed at the simple brown top hat in his hands. <em>

_He looked outside the window of his room, and saw that it was snowing.__ They would have gotten married on Christmas, he remembered suddenly, because she loved the snow. She had always loved the snow. _

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><p>...We say...<p>

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><p><em>A thought came to him, and the truth of it nearly drove him to his knees while he was falling. Falling into the empty abyss called sadness. He'll keep falling, he knew, until he would never escape that dark, despairing void where happiness is but a half remembered dream. That empty, yawning, chasm will haunt him for the rest of his life, reminding him of his one unforgivable sin... <em>

_For he had remembered what he forgotten to do today, and out of all the mistakes he made in his life, he would never, ever, forgive himself for this for as long as he lives. _

_After all, what kind of gentleman forgets to tell his beloved that he loves her? _

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><p>...Goodbye...<p>

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><p><em>At that moment, the tears that he tried so vainly to hold back flowed at last. He fell back on his bed and cried. He cried and cried, mourning the loss of his love, his knees to his chest as he wailed softly into his hat. He lost track of time in the room that held so many memories of them together...<em>

_Eventually, he fell asleep on the bed, all the while hugging his beloved hat and saying her name, over and over again, as if it would bring her back._

_"...Claire... "_

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><p><em>...Goodbye<em>


	2. Chapter 2: The Child

Yo. Just saying hi up here. There's somewhat of a slight spoiler on Unwound Future, but it's on a character that I won't name. Now, have fun!

Disclaimers: I don't own Professor Layton-haven't you read the last disclaimer?

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><p><em>"There are things that we don't want to happen but have to accept, things we don't want to know but have to learn, and people we can't live without but have to let go." <em>

_~Author Unknown_

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><p>The Child<p>

Hershel looked back at the boy. He had stopped crying earlier, and now his eyes looked straight ahead, his empty, distant stare making Hershel worry. The boy clung to him tightly, never letting go in the fear that the man with the top hat would leave him; he had lost too much already.

They walked aimlessly for awhile, each of them occupied with their own thoughts, or the lack of them. Hershel kept checking on the boy, as if he were afraid that he may, somehow, break away from his grip and decide to go back to the fire, or jump in the way of a moving vehicle. Thankfully, none of these things happened. The boy just walked with him, looking at the ground with his vacant stare, his thoughts muddled and hovering out of reach.

They walked together until they spotted a inspector. The man wore a drab grey coat on top of a white shirt streaked with ash and a dark tie, a moustache and a grim look etched on his face as he slouched with his both hands in his pockets. He had a rather large moustache, with dark eyes that took note of everything as he yelled orders to his companion; a shorter, stouter, man with sideburns and a small moustache, dressed in the standard police uniform; a blue suit with a matching hat with a white stripe on top of his dark brown hair that made him a bit taller. Hershel said to the boy to go to them.

"...I know that you have lost someone precious..." he said, kneeling down to see him more clearly. "... But for your own well-being, you have to go to him so he can help you. Do you understand?" The boy nodded, but when Hershel stood up, he seemed to cling tighter to his jacket. Hershel sighed inwardly.

_So young, to be so bereft_, he thought. "Here, what about this...? I'll go with you to him, and see how he's like, alright? Then, if you don't like him, we could... we could look around for your family." The boy flinched when he mentioned the word 'family', but otherwise, didn't reply. "So, do you know of anyone?" Hershel prompted. When the boy didn't reply, merely shook his head ever so slightly, Hershel nodded, coming to a decision. "Very well. Should it come to pass that you have nowhere to stay the night, you may stay with me, if you so wish."

The boy looked at him at astonishment. It was the first sign of emotion that the boy showed, other than sadness, that hour. His mouth fell open slightly, making him look like a gaping fish. He then opened and closed his jaw, as if trying to form words, but failing miserably. Hershel just smiled at him, meaning every word of it. _I don't think she'll mind. I'll just have to explain the situation to her, and then-_

_-There's nothing to explain Hershel. She's dead. _His face darkened, and he closed his eyes, shutting out the voice that bothered him constantly over the pass hour, reminding him of what happened. After all, she wasn't dead. She _can't _be dead. _It's impossible..._ He shook his head slightly, as if it would help him be rid of his dark thoughts, and looked at the boy again. The boy didn't notice his slight change of demeanour earlier, and was still gaping like a fish.

When the boy regained his wits, he just nodded in thanks. They walked quietly over to the inspector, who didn't notice them, and was currently muttering at himself and scowling at shorter man with the tall blue hat, who seemed to be panicking. Hershel didn't blame him.

"... Mister...?" asked the boy quietly, speaking so softly that Hershel almost missed the question altogether. They both stopped walking for a moment so the boy could talk.

"...What's your name...?" Hershel blinked in surprise; he didn't think that the child could talk at all, so soon after losing everything. After a small pause, he turned to the child and gave him a gentle smile. "...Hershel. My name is Hershel Layton." The boy nodded, as if confirming something. Then, out of the blue, gave him a hug and a small, sad, smile.

"...Thank you."

With that, he walked away from Hershel at last, and made his way towards the inspector.


	3. Chapter 3: The Mentor

Hello again! Next chapter's here, and this one's with Andrew. No spoilers, I think, of any sort. So have fun, and read!

Disclaimers: Again? Didn't I just tell you I don't own Professor Layton two chapters ago? Well?

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><p><em>"As long as I can, <em>

_I will look at this world for both of us. _

_As long as I can I will laugh with the birds._

_I will sing with the flowers._

_I will pray to the stars._

_For both of us."_

_~Unknown Author_

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><p>The Mentor<p>

He walked back to the University in a daze, only to find his mentor, Andrew Schrader, teaching the class in his absence. He stood near the doorway of the classroom while his mentor continued with his lecture for a few more moments, laughing as he gave the students a puzzle that Hershel could have solved in seconds. When Andrew saw him, his smile faded a bit, seeing his expression, but nobody noticed the man with a top hat in the doorway or the suddenly strained smile of his mentor in front of the blackboard. He dismissed the class with his smile, giving them their homework and another puzzle to work on. Hershel, not wanting to be noticed by the students, managed to slip inside without much trouble. Then, Andrew walked briskly to him, worry clearly etched on his face.

"Hershel, my boy! You left here in quite a hurry! Did something come up?"

When Hershel didn't respond, he guided him to one of the seats. Andrew hurried to get him some tea, but Hershel waved it off. Andrew was even more concerned for him after that; Hershel never refused tea before. "Hershel, what's wrong...?"Andrew asked as he put down his own tea on the desk. _He looks terrible_, Andrew thought alarmingly, looking at him closely. Hershel was pale and his hands were shaking. He subconsciously clenched and unclenched his jaw at random intervals, and he swallowed repeatedly. He could scarcely hear him breathe in the empty classroom; it was so shallow. Hershel tried to look away but his mentor wouldn't let him, staring calmly at him until Hershel looked at him. His face was haggard, Andrew realised. He seemed to have aged years in the space of a few hours. Yet what most distressed him were his eyes...

They were so empty...so sad...

"...You know, talking about it could help," said Andrew after a prolonged silence. Hershel stayed quiet, not trusting himself to speak. In his mind, to speak about it, to even think about it, would make it real. _She's not dead_, he thought numbly. S_he just can't be dead..._

"Did something happen Hershel?" asked Andrew softly, "Did something happen between you and..." he trailed off, waiting for him to speak.

He saw something flicker in Hershel's face.

Grief.

He looked away.

"...Hershel...?"

"...It's fine," he said at last, holding down the brim of his hat so Andrew couldn't see his eyes. "...I'm fine, Andrew. It's nothing to worry about. I'm sorry for leaving class so abruptly."

"But, my boy—"

"—Everything's fine."

At that point, he had no doubt that something was wrong. Hershel never interrupted anyone, ever, while at the same time lying through his teeth. But Andrew did not press him. He knew him well enough to know that it would be pointless to ask him anything at this point; he would only stay silent.

_Hershel will talk when he is ready,_ Andrew thought sadly, _and when that happens, I will listen._

"... Alright then," he said, nodding, "I'll hold you to your word." Hershel nodded, and proceeded to leave when Andrew stopped him.

"Hershel...?"

He turned back to face him.

"...Know that I'm here for you, so you can tell me anything that troubles you, okay?"

Hershel blinked at him in surprise. He opened his mouth as if to say something, and then closed it, as if he thought better of it. He nodded his thanks, and turned back to leave the classroom. Andrew sighed inwardly, remarking to himself how stubborn his student is. He began to pack his things when Hershel stopped at the doorway, contemplating what to say to Andrew. His mentor. His teacher. The only one who offered such kindness throughout his life. When he came to a decision, he held the brim of his hat down. It was as if he was afraid someone would see his eyes.

"...Thank you, Andrew."

Andrew turned to answer him, but Hershel disappeared, leaving him alone in the room.


	4. Chapter 4: The Lady

...This is it. The final chapter. This one _might_ not be one of my best ones to date (in my opinion, anyway), but, regarless, it's here. I personally like _The Gentleman_ better, but then again, that's just me :D No spoilers of any sort, in terms of the plotline in The Unwound Future, but maybe there is a slight one for characters. Not telling who's who, tho'

Disclaimers: Gah! Read the first chapter's second author's note, and you'll get why I'm getting annoyed...

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><p><em>"<em>_When you are sorrowful look again in your heart,_

_ and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight." _

_~Kahlil Gibran _

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><p>The Lady<p>

It has been a week. One week, since the explosion that took her life. Hershel was dressed in a brown coat on top of his usual red vest and white scarf in preparation for her funeral. He still wore his top hat in memory of her, and stubbornly refused to take it off in his house or in the presence of anyone, including his mentor, for the past week, her last request still echoing in his mind.

_"So, no taking it off!"_

He walked outside his house to see his mentor, Andrew Schrader, and his friend, Clark Triton. Behind them stood Clark's wife, Brenda, carrying a small baby no more than two years old. The Tritons greeted him hesitantly, as if they didn't know how he would react, and offered their condolences while Andrew didn't say anything. He just looked at him with a kind of pity in his eyes that Hershel found infuriating. He didn't need their sympathy. He just wanted to find the monster that did this, and make him pay. Simple as that. He was a ticking time bomb, just waiting to explode.

They drove him to the cemetery underneath the dreary sky. _It's that day all over again_, thought Hershel grimly. When they arrived, he went out of the car and walked through the freezing snow, hardly feeling the cold wind outside. Her grave was located on top of a small hill beside a cherry tree. Underneath the bare tree was a simple stone bench where her parents sat, her father crying as her mother comforted him, her movements wooden from her once effortless grace, and her usual warm, twinkling eyes now dull and empty. The service was small; other than the priest, Hershel, Andrew, and Clark's family, only Claire's parents and a couple of her friends were there, huddled together for warmth.

The sermon was short. The priest said his part, while a few others, like her parents and some of her friends, came up and said a few things about her that made Hershel's heart ache. They all placed flowers on top of the casket. One of her closer friends placed on top her flute and her music. Another sang a song, her clear, melodic voice bringing tears to everybody's eyes except Hershel, who was too numb to feel anything. He recognized the song; it was one that she had been so proud about making with her friend, the same person who sang it. Afterwards, they all left rather quickly; only her parents stopping to say hello to Hershel, and to thank him for taking care of her. He blinked in surprise and said nothing.

_...Why do you thank me...?_ He thought, almost angrily. _Blame me, hate me, beat me, but for the love of God, don't thank me! I failed her... I've failed all of you! Why do you thank me for not being able to protect her...?_

Once they left, Andrew told Clark to wait for them in the car. They complied, and left them, mentor and apprentice, alone on the hill standing near her grave. Andrew waited for a bit to see if Hershel would talk; he hadn't spoken more than was necessary for the past week. It was as if every word was an effort that caused him pain. No one could mention her name in his presence. If they did, he would politely excuse himself, and leave. Once it was clear that he wouldn't speak, Andrew broke the silence.

"...Hershel," Andrew said quietly. "We'll be waiting for you in the car. Don't take too long, alright...?" He said nothing as Andrew patted him on the back and headed down the slope.

Hershel stood there in silence, and looked up at the sky. He stayed there unmoving, like a statue, for a few moments to see if he could remember anything at all about her. It was strange, for someone who he had so many memories with, he could hardly recall what her voice sounded like, or the colour of her eyes. He could barely recall what she looks like. He smiled bitterly. Maybe it's best that he didn't remember these things. He heard slow footsteps moving toward him, crunching the snow as they went, and glanced behind him.

The lady that came forward carried a small stuffed toy; a monkey with a red ribbon on its head. Hershel recognized her; she was at the burial. _She looks like she's about to cry_, Hershel noticed as she placed the animal near the headstone with exceeding gentleness. She knelt by the grave for a moment, speaking so softly that Hershel couldn't hear anything.

_She's a beautiful woman,_ thought Hershel as he gazed at her. She had a slender figure, her wavy light brown hair framing her face. She wore glasses underneath the black veil and a black dress with trimmed with lace. Although he couldn't see her eyes, there was something about her that was familiar.

She stood up at last, and looked at Hershel. She had striking green eyes that shone with unshed tears, filled with such sorrow that, for one absurd moment, he wanted to make her feel better. He didn't say anything to her, though; there wasn't anything to say. _Grief_, he remarked to himself, _seems to render people speechless, and yet completely understandable_. Hesitantly, he took a step toward her, and after a moment, they embraced. She wept softly on his shoulder while he just stood there, holding her close and giving comfort, but he didn't cry. He couldn't seem to find the strength to cry after that day, his tears all seemingly dried up.

After a minute or two, the mysterious lady stopped crying. She wiped away the last of her tears, and looked at him with those bright green eyes, hardened with a determination that wasn't there before.

"You will find the truth about what happened." It was a statement, not a question. Hershel nodded. "Promise?" Hershel was about to nod again when she put a finger on his lips. "I want to hear you say it." He looked at her with those dark eyes, and she saw in them a spark of resolve in those sorrowful dark orbs. The spark grew and grew, until his eyes looked at her with a fire that scared her. His resolve was an inferno compared to the flickering candlelight of sadness. The small candle was still there, it's tiny flame nothing to the inferno that surrounded it, but she could still see it. It only added to the entrancing blaze his eyes showed.

_It will be with him forever_, she realized sadly. _It might fade a bit with the passing of time, but it will still be there. Haunting him._ _Reminding him of what he lost. _She sighed inwardly as she studied his face. He was a handsome man, were it not for the dark circles under his eyes, his pale pallor, slightly tinged with pink from the cold. His eyes, before the burial, were empty. Vacant of everything except a grief so real and tangible that she was surprised that he had the drive to get out of bed and see the day. She nearly didn't.

Then, in a quiet voice that resonated something deep within her, he spoke.

"... I promise."

She nodded, satisfied. She knew that he wouldn't go back on his word. Then, she smiled ruefully at him, and all at once, he knew who she was. He had seen pictures of her, her sister, and his beloved together, all smiling at the camera while hanging upside down from a tree. They were younger then, he knew, but he knew no one else with those eyes. Those bright, expressive green eyes, flecked with gold."... She spoke highly of you," she said as she backed away. "If you ever need a place to stay, come over to Paris for a little while. You'll always be welcome in my home." Just as he began to reach for her, she turned and walked away, leaving him alone in the snow.

_Snow_. Hershel looked down at the pure white scenery around him, its seemingly innocent appearance hiding the a more morbid truth— the bodies of the dearly departed. Hershel never really liked the snow; he found it too cold. And far too wet. _But she loved the snow,_ he remembered. _She had always loved the snow..._

* * *

><p><em> "...<em>_It reminds me of a time when I was little," she told him one day when he asked why. They were sitting on a bench near the River Thames, and it was snowing that day, gently covering the scenery in a magnificent blanket of white. _

_ "A friend of mine had come over for the winter. She and her five year old sister were one of my childhood friends who was about to move over to Paris in a few weeks. We would play in the snow for hours and hours, only stopping when our mothers came over in a huff, and even then we would run around them, laughing and screaming. We would surrender ourselves to them only when they promised mugs of steaming hot chocolate, and by then, we would be shivering in our boots and soaked to the bone." She smiled fondly at the memory, her eyes distant as she remembered. _

_ "We used to get such a scolding, but we knew it was worth it. At night, we would try to keep each other awake in vain to wait for Santa to come by. Then, we would wake up and race downstairs to see what we got for Christmas, only to realize it wasn't Christmas yet!" She grinned foolishly. "We would keep doing that for days on end, until we saw our presents underneath the tree. I got a couple of books that I've been eyeing all year from her, while I gave her a monkey with a little red bow on its head. To her little sister, I gave a clarinet and some music, while she gave me my flute. We were all so happy that we danced in circles till the world spun for about an hour, and sang so loudly that the dog howled for us to keep quiet." She laughed, brightening up the air around them with the sweet sound._

_ "Then, we would continue our antics in the snow for days on end, until they left." Her smile began to fade a bit. "Not long after that, she got influenza and died. I never saw her again." She looked up at the grey sky, hiding her eyes. "I used to cry every year when I see snow. I guess it reminded me a little too much of her. She was only ten, you know," she said, looking at Hershel. _

_ "Her name was Celeste. It's such a beautiful name. It was perfect for a sweet girl like her. Her sister's name was Sam. Little Sammy." She smiled, but her eyes betrayed the sadness within her."After that, I never saw Sam again, either. Her parents thought she would remember her sister if she did, and so kept her away from me. To stop her from crying." She smiled bitterly now. "I knew that her parents were only protecting her... but it still hurt." Her hands tightened into fists, her eyes hardening with a kind of sad defiance. He loved her more for that."We kept in touch indirectly. Her friends would sometimes come over to my house, and we would send letters to each other through them. It wasn't perfect, but at least I knew she was still alive." She bit her lip. "At the time, I think I thought that everyone I ever cared about were dead too._

_ "As I grew older, whenever I would see snow I wouldn't cry anymore, but instead ask myself why she was taken from me." Her eyes started to fill with tears as she remembered. "Christmas became... a more miserable affair for me. But... after a while, I began to see things differently." She smiled ruefully. "I had to. I was tired of getting sad on the day that everyone talked about, and I knew that she wouldn't want me to be sad. So, slowly, I began to remember all the times we had together. All the fun, happy days we spent in the snow. And that was enough to make me happy." Hershel touched her cheek to wipe off the tears that started to flow from her eyes. "I loved her like a sister, Hershel," she said quietly..._

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><p>...<em>That was a year ago<em>, he remembered sadly, the loss of her cutting into his heart like a dull knife. He was used to the pain now; all he felt was the emptiness that accompanies it. He knelt near her grave and read her headstone, tracing the words on the marble gently as he read, just as the snowflakes drifted down from the sky.

_Claire Foley_

_June 18, 1923 - December 12, 1948_

_~We part only to meet again.~_

"We part only to meet again," murmured Hershel as he read her epitaph. He wasn't a religious man, but nevertheless, it still brought him comfort. That was its purpose, after all, to comfort the living by putting a message about the dead. He brushed off the snowflakes that landed on the dull marble, and stood up. He looked down the hill, and saw the black car. He could make out Andrew and Clark, both waiting outside for him and talking in the empty cemetery. He heard his friend throw his head back and laugh his barking laugh at something that his mentor said as Andrew chuckled. Hershel smiled sadly. It was a strange feeling, to be a part of the group, and yet be so isolated. It was a lot like being alone on one side of an invisible wall with everyone you ever knew other side.

A snowflake landed on his nose as he found himself thinking of Sam. Sam, who had lost her sister when she was only five. Sam, who had, against the wishes of her parents, mailed letters and kept in touch with her for fifteen years. Sam, so stoic during her burial, breaking down when there was almost no one there to comfort her except a stranger she had only heard stories about. _She has lost more than I have_, he thought suddenly, immediately feeling guilty and angry at himself for being so selfish. _Someday_, he promised to himself, _I will visit her in her house in Paris. But not now_. He looked at the grey sky and at the snowflakes slowly descending from the heavens, soon to be completely covering the landscape in a blanket of white. _It's too soon_.

_"You will find the truth..."_

He thought of her words, and found himself wondering what really happened. He realized with a jolt that there was no investigation into the explosion that changed so many lives. He furrowed his brow, and sat down on the bench near the tree. He noted with some anger that there was little to no information regarding the explosion, like what the scientists were after, or what caused the accident. The newspapers said that there was a gas leak, and an accident that caused the explosion, but he didn't believe it. He felt that there was something deeper, more sinister at play here, than a simple gas leak.

Hershel closed his eyes, wishing with all his heart that this was a dream, a nightmare, that he would wake up see her in his arms again. He could finally see her now, clearly, in the forefront of his mind, her beautiful dark chocolate eyes smiling and laughing happily at him. He would be grinning foolishly as he would twirl her around him, dancing to a music only they can hear, it's clear and haunting melody slowly rising and falling with the soft, floating harmony.

Then, he opened his eyes to see the gravestone, the engraving still sharp and clear as the cold bite of the wind. He laughed humorlessly. _Maybe it was best, after all. Not to have remembered anything about her__, _he remarked to himself, smiling mirthlessly at the grave. A thought came to him, and he sighed, feeling as though chains were being placed around his heart, weighing it down with a unbearably heavy sadness, ancient as time itself.

"...I miss you." He said at last, no louder than a whisper. "I miss you so much that it hurts... " his voice broke at the end. He stood there in silence for a moment. He tried to say her name out loud.

"Cl...Cla..Clai—"

— _we sit on a bench near the River Thames, talking about her friends while looking at the snow_—

—_and she's at home early, for once, cooking dinner for Thanksgiving_—

—_laughing merrily at the forecast, jumping with joy. "It's going to snow!" She catches me, and we dance in the kitchen_—

—_I'm running, running. Legs burning, shaking. Faster. Must go faster. Have to reach her, have to save her_—

—_NO!_

He closed his eyes, struggling to stop the flow of memories that burst forth from her name, the word that means so much to him. He covered his eyes with his hand as he did this, and laughed bitterly when he failed to stop the flow, just managing to quiet the voices and push away the pictures of his mind for the moment.

"... Seems that I still can't. No matter how hard I try." He looked at the dull grey sky and saw a flock of birds flying south.

_How can it be..._ he thought, feeling a mixture of sadness at her fate, and anger at the world._...That the world can keep turning without you? That others can move on with a smile, and never look back? _

"... I can't let you go..." he said, sighing. _Why is it so hard...? _

"After all, every time I speak, I think of all the times we laughed about the anything and everything.

—_it hurts to speak to anyone that isn't you_—

"—Every time I move, I remember all the times we danced together

—_hard to get up from bed and begin the day _—

"—Every time I breathe, I can smell your scent in the room

—_I miss you so much_—

"—Every time I sleep, I _dream_ of you

—_I never want to wake up to this nightmare called reality_—

"—Every time I _think_, I think of _you_."

What he said moments ago slipped out of him, and it was almost without him knowing since he said this so softly that he nearly missed himself saying it. He sighed sadly.

_Ignorance is bliss_, thought Hershel, _when the truth is hard to bear._ A strange feeling rose up in him with the tide called emotion. Without thinking, he dives into it.

He senses a deep sadness at her death. Anguish at the memories she left behind to seemingly torture him with, even though he knew he was being unfair. Anger— a bright, blazing, wildfire inside of him—at whoever did this.. A hatred he had for himself, for not being able to save her.

It was then, he thought years later, when he looked back to that windy day in the cemetery, where he stood near his beloved's grave knee deep in the snow she had loved so much, that he turned his sadness and grief into a desire for vengeance, and his desire into an obsession. He will _not_ let whoever did this get away.

_Even if it takes a thousand years, _he swore silently. _Even if it kills me._

The cold wind blew as he heard the snow-crunching footsteps behind him. "... Hershel...?"

He glanced behind to see his mentor standing a few feet away.

_Andrew looks worried_, Hershel mused. _Perhaps I've been here too long._

"Hershel?" Andrew said hesitantly. For all the years he has known him, he had never seen him so distant. So sad.

And so very angry.

"It's time to go."

Hershel looked at him. Andrew nearly flinched. His face was pale and gaunt, while his hat cast a shadow across his face, giving him an unmistakably ominous look. He tensed up, as if he was about to strike his mentor. But this was not why Andrew suddenly wanted to escape from the cold, windy, cemetery, knee deep in snow. It was because he looked into his eyes.

If looks could kill, he would've died that instant and suffered a thousand deaths.

He saw in his eyes a man he had never seen before. His usual warm brown eyes were dark. So dark that they were almost black. They blazed with a hate that promised eternal torment, yet were so cold and calculating that Andrew had no doubt that Hershel would make the perfect killer—he would never get caught. He was too smart for that. In its depths, he could see a hint of sadness there, but that was nothing compared to the blood thirst he so obviously craved. For the first time in all the years he had taught him— taught anyone, really— Andrew feared his student. For if Hershel were to snap this instant, he was a dead man.

Professor Hershel Layton, the kind, inspiring, true gentleman of London, wanted to kill him.

"...Hershel..." Andrew said softly.

They stayed like that for a moment. All was silent, save for the rushing of the wind.

He blinked once.

And it all vanished. Everything vanished in that instant; the hatred, the anger, the bloodlust. All that was left was the sadness. Hershel closed his eyes, as if fighting back whatever dark force possesed him to be tempted to kill his mentor, and nodded his head wearily. After a moment's hesitation, he accompanied his mentor down the hill and into the car, where Clark and his family were waiting.

He didn't look back.

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><p>...And that is all she wrote. Hope you enjoyed the story :D<p> 


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